


American Honda

by writingandchocolatemilk



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred F. Jones - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Human, American Mary - Freeform, Honda Kiku - Freeform, Kiku Honda - Freeform, M/M, ameripan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiku Honda would study. He would study everything, surgically related or not. No medical book was left unread, no procedure left unpracticed. Money was a different matter. </p>
<p>Luckily, there's a whole other world which requires work like Kiku's. People who needed their arms removed, teeth filed, tongues split... </p>
<p>Based off of the movie "American Mary."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aph-mio](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aph-mio).
  * Inspired by [American Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/93602) by Twisted Twins Production. 



> I plan to update and edit the dialog. It sounds a little stiff and too close to the source material. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. As of now, up until chapter two is very close to the original movie.
> 
> Based off of the movie "American Mary."

Every three days, Kiku would walk into the cheap super market down the street from his cheap apartment and buy an expensive turkey. The cashier would smile and attempt to flirt with him every time, ignoring the fact that Kiku would only nod politely.

When Kiku returned home, he would find his surgical kit, strip until he was just in his boxers and a ratty t-shirt, and put on his apron. Hours and hours were spent on the turkey, cutting the neatest, straightest lines he could manage. Then, he would sew them up.

Afterwards, Kiku would neatly take off his gloves and put the turkey in the fridge. Finally, he would study. He would study everything, surgically related or not. Medical school was a tough mistress, but Kiku was tougher. No medical book was left unread, no procedure left unpracticed.

Money was a different matter.

Professor Roberts continued his PowerPoint, looking over his shoulder to make sure his students were paying attention. Kiku was, but the Student Loan Service kept calling. It was the third time that his phone buzzed on the desk that Professor Roberts whirled on Kiku.

“Mr. Honda, would you mind telling me the purpose of hemoglobin in the blood, and what happens when the bloodstream is devoid of it?”

Kiku proceeded to rattle of the correct answer, Roberts’ glare getting hotter and hotter.

“Very good, Mr. Honda. However, having your phone ring in the middle of class is very fucking rude. If you could refrain for a moment to pay attention to my lecture, that’d be fabulous,” Roberts said loudly, the entire lecture snapping to attention.

“Of course, Sir,” Kiku said, slipping his phone into his bag.

The lecture continued, Kiku tacking the occasional note he hadn’t already read in one of his text books. He might not have any food in his fridge, but he sure as hell had all the required text books.

By the time the lecture let out, Kiku had two more missed calls. He sighed, walking toward his car and calling the Student Loan Service back, blessing the empty street. Roberts might have been strict, but his classes were always held late; Kiku preferred a deserted campus.

“Well, I put a payment in last Friday, and they told me it would be fine,” Kiku leaned against his car, looking up at the cement ceiling. “Yes, please… Probably in two weeks.” He sucked air through his teeth. “Three-hundred? Last month… Yes, alright, thank you.”

“Money troubles, Mr. Honda?”

Kiku jumped, turning around to Roberts.

“No, Sir,” Kiku said. How had he not heard the professor? When the parking garage was empty, a person could be heard from the floor below.

Roberts raised his eyebrows, a small, pitying smile on his face as he climbed into his car. Kiku watched as the slim racecar pulled away, engine echoing through the entire building.

On the ride home, Kiku had to stop for gas; he watched the price tick upwards, back becoming straighter and straighter. He only filled the tank half way. The off-brand car groaned when it started, the headlights flickering in the gloom.

However, not all was lost. The lights in Kiku’s apartment turned on now, and he had heat. That was better than this morning, waking up in the freezing cold at four, frantically trying to turn on any light as he searched for spare blankets.

Something had to be done.

Desperation led to the Internet, lovingly hacked from the apartment below. Kiku went to the cheap site that had found him his previous job, though it had gone bankrupt last week. Desperation led to more and more pages over, stranger and stranger titles of the posts.

_Desperation_ led to Kiku pulling up outside of a building with no windows, deep bass resonating through the ground. The bouncer by the door raised an eyebrow, looking Kiku up and down before opening the door.

Well, at least the place attempted to be classy. The walls were covered in leather, and there were tasteful plants scattered around. Some of the pictures almost didn’t look forged. It didn’t distract much from the raised stage and the naked person dancing there.

Kiku closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. He stood there for longer than he would have liked to admit, blocking out the music and the cat calls. Think about the money, the bills that could be paid, the—

“Excuse me, Darlin’, but you’re a long way from home.”

Kiku whipped around, slapping away the stranger’s hand. The man laughed, motioning for Kiku to follow him into a back room. The lights were brighter in this room, and the cheap paint and chipped wood was much more visible. The man collapsed onto a couch, throwing his arms around the back and grinning at Kiku.

Kiku hugged his coat tighter around himself. “I assume you’re Mr. Jones?”

“Alfred, please,” the man in question sat forward. “So, what are you doing in this neck of the woods? What’s this—a résumé? Well, I’ll tell you this, we don’t get many people giving _résumés_ around here.”

Electricity, water, heat, school, text books. Kiku repeated this to himself as Alfred read over his résumé, humming the tune of the song in the background. Water, heat, electricity, text books, his future.

“Lot of schoolin’ on this old rés- _u_ -mé,” Alfred drawled, throwing the paper next to him. “What’re you going for school for?”

“I’m becoming a surgeon,” Kiku said softly, maintaining eye contact, as much as it pained him.

Alfred whistled. “Well, good for you. Unfortunately, this fine establishment only accepts the best of the best.” Why did he sound so serious? “So, why don’t you show me some of your dancing? Nothing big, just dance to the music, think of this like a test!”

It wouldn’t have been so annoying if Alfred hadn’t been genuine. Kiku took another deep breath, shrugging off his coat. He had nothing “sexy,” so he had just planned to undress slowly. Judging by the look on Alfred’s face, he was not doing a very good job.

“There’s a problem.”

Alfred ripped his eyes away from Kiku, raising an eyebrow at the blond bouncer that had entered. The bouncer was huge, but he looked absolutely terrified as he stood in the doorway. He didn’t even glance over at Kiku.

“Well, what is it?” Alfred asked, smiling apologetically at Kiku.

“Feliciano—Vargas—he, they…” The bouncer took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “He’s in trouble. They caught him. We found him out back, screaming. I drugged him but—Yao said he wasn’t going to come back after last time.”

“Shit,” Alfred hissed, eyes flicking over to look at Kiku. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, Doctor Surgeon.”

Once again, it was just Kiku standing alone, listening to the pounding of the bass. Alfred’s office was strewn with fast-food wrappers, various piles of money, and the occasional picture. They only seemed to be of one man—another blond with glasses. Was it a boyfriend or—

“Hey, how much more schoolin’ do you have before you’re…” Alfred stuck his head through the doorway, waving around his hand, “Finished?”

“Ah, well, I still have my residency, but most of the formal schooling is…” Kiku trailed off, eyes lingering on the bloodstains now covering Alfred’s hands. “I think I should go, you seem busy, Mr. Jones.”

Kiku went to move by Alfred, but he blocked the doorway, apologetic grin still on his face. “You want to make five grand?”

What?

Five thousand dollars.

Groceries for weeks. _Decent_ groceries for weeks.

“What will I have to do?”

The grungy strip bar was replaced by a dank, disgusting cellar. Kiku grimaced as he walked down the stairs slick with slime and years of caked on dirt. Various illicit substances lined the walls in rusting cabinets. Alfred let Kiku to a small room at the back, equally as filthy, if brighter.

It took Kiku a full five seconds to realize that the man lying on the table was covered in blood. The bouncer from before was hovering nearby, looking distressed. Alfred, for his part, looked pretty calm as he handed Kiku a bottle and a rag.

“Just clean him up the best you can, alright, Doctor Surgeon? There should be some gauze or somethin’ in that drawer—Ludwig, can you go and get some? Thank you.”

Kiku was silently praying. How could he ever clean this man up? His hands were shaking so bad he nearly dropped the bottle twice untwisting the cap. This man was going to die. There was no way—

The bouncer, Ludwig, returned, handing Kiku some cheap bandages and a pair of gloves.

Kiku gritted his teeth and began to dab at the wounds, ignoring the man’s whimpers. As soon as the cloth hit skin, Kiku felt a little calmer. He had been trained for this, for stress. At the back of his mind, he was panicking, rehearsing the 911 call, but his face was blank.

Time had never flown quicker.

“I can’t save the eye.”

“Will he live?”

“Clean the wounds regularly, get him to a doctor, and yes.”

Alfred smiled, looking over Kiku’s shoulder to where the man sprawled. “Alright! Well, here’s the cash—You’re good, right?” The money was just out of reach. “No cop callin’? You just saved a life.”

Kiku’s expression was neutral. “Of course not.” The money was in his palm. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jones.”

He held it together. On walk back through the basement, on the car ride home, on the way upstairs. Kiku turned on the shower, watched the water, then stepped in. He didn’t bother to take his clothes off, and he stood there long after the hot water had disappeared down the drain.


	2. Two

The past few weeks had been amazing. Kiku paid off all of his overdue bills; now he could focus on the looming task of his student loans. He bought his guinea pig a larger cage. A weight Kiku didn’t know had been resting on his shoulder evaporated.

On the other hand, he bought a baseball bat with his new money. Kiku sat facing his door every night. By the time two weeks was up, Kiku was exhausted enough to sleep any time he wasn’t in class.

Slowly, slowly, Kiku relaxed. It was a onetime thing—he had even saved a man’s life, as illegal as it had been.

He thought nothing of it when his phone rang one night while he was studying. A blocked number, probably Kiku’s technology challenged uncle.

“Hello?”

Static.

“Is this Dr. Honda?”

It was a man’s voice. Kiku checked the caller-ID once again.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“You don’t really know me, Dr. Honda! Your résumé is pretty impressive, though! I was wondering if I could meet you—“

Kiku’s heart lurched. He hadn’t given his résumé out. Except… “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number. My number is confused with Kiku you’re looking for quite often but I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Thank god his voice came out calm.

“But I didn’t ask for a Kiku.”

Kiku’s hand trembled as he closed the call. He slid his phone across the table reflexively. The phone was silent for a few seconds, than rang again. Kiku stood, knocking over his chair and checking the number.

Ｂｌｏｃｋｅｄ

Another sleepless night. Kiku sat on his new coffee table, clutching his bat. Every time someone walked by his door, Kiku would stand and ready his bat. He remained standing for five minutes, even after they had walked by. His legs ached but his mind was still reeling.

Finally, after a calming cup of tea, Kiku collapsed into bed. It probably hadn’t been anyone malicious. Kiku should have kept talking; it might have been one of the stores he had sent his résumé to. Of course, that had been months ago.

However, just because an unknown number called Kiku didn’t mean he could forgo practice. He pulled out one of his trusty turkeys and set it to thaw on the counter, pulling on his apron, boxers, and gloves.

He was just leaning down to make the first incision when his intercom buzzed. Kiku let out a sigh and walked over to his door, pressing the button.

“Hi! I have a package.”

“You can come up.”

Kiku realized he was wearing bloody gloves and his underwear. He unchained the door and then walked into his bathroom. When he had found a pair of pants and turned around, the door was open.

Unluckily for the intruder, Kiku left the baseball bat by the door. He crept forward, grabbing the bat and kicking the door shut. He whirled, bat raised, ready to attack.

“Hi— _oh God, please don’t hit me_!” A man—the intruder—cowered, backpedaling into the kitchen. “I’m not here to hurt you, please, put the bat down.” He smiled, hands raised in the air.

Kiku did not put the bat down. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you recognize me?”

Kiku didn’t remember people very well. He had never been the most social of people; it had taken ages for the few friends he chose to remember to be classified as such. Anyone who was not a “friend” was forgotten.

But Kiku recognized his stiches.

The bat wavered in the air. “The man from… The man who…”

“You can call me Feliciano!”

He looked different when he wasn’t covered in blood. Feliciano, certain he wasn’t going to be attacked, lowered his arms. And grinned. How had Kiku missed the eye patch? How was this man alive? The trauma alone should have killed him, let alone Kiku’s rush-stitching.

No. There was a reason that man had been butchered. Kiku raised the bat, knees locked. “What are you doing here?”

“Aha, no—look, I’ll give you a thousand dollars just to listen!” Feliciano let out a nervous laugh, though he didn’t back away. “Just to listen—and look, I’m not even holding a bat, I can’t even hurt your, isn’t that funny?”

A thousand dollars?

Feliciano was right—Kiku was in control of the situation. Even if the man went for Kiku’s scalpel, Kiku could rush him. A bat trumps a tiny knife in almost all situations. Plus, Feliciano was already wounded.

“May I see the money?”

Feliciano nodded eagerly. He reached into the pockets of his purple pants, pulling out a roll of tens. Kiku watched as Feliciano dropped it to the floor, kicking it away. After a moment hesitation, Kiku dropped the bat.

“Thank you so much—Ludwig and Alfred told me all about what you did for me!” Feliciano reached up to touch his eye patch. “And Alfred was the one who gave me your résumé and your number because he thought you could help.”

“No, I’m not going to… It’s highly dangerous, working in unsterile conditions. Infections are bound to occur, and I do not have proper incubation—“

Feliciano shook his head and laughed. This man did an awful lot of laughing. He sat on Kiku’s kitchen counter, swinging his legs. “Oh, no, nothing like that! It’s for a friend of mine. She’s very nice, everyone loves her and she’s been so… Well, are you happy with who you are? Like, looking?”

This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. “Yes, Mr. Feliciano.”

“Well, some people aren’t, you know? And they…” Feliciano closed his eyes. “Well, I think she would be better at telling you want she wanted. Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in any propositions where I will have to go to an unfamiliar location. I have listened—“

Feliciano stood, clasping his hands together. “Oh, please! I’ll give you two grand just to show up, and you probably know the place, it’s right down on Main, the little pet shop?” Feliciano read Kiku’s expression before he could say anything. “I’ll give you two grand just to show up! And if you accept, another five on top!”

It wasn’t as seedy as Kiku had expected. What Feliciano had described as a pet shop was actually a veterinary clinic. A well-kept, bright veterinary clinic that Kiku didn’t expected. Kiku opened the door and walked in, holding his surgical kit in one hand and his coat closed with the other.

An angry man at the front desk glared at him, then spun in his chair and yelled somewhere into the gloom in Italian. There was a faint response, and then the angry man snorted. He stood and motioned for Kiku to follow him.

The man led Kiku to one of the larger operating rooms. Feliciano was there, sitting on the counter. He waved, pulling out an envelope and throwing it to Kiku.

“I told you he would come, Lovino!”

Lovino muttered something in his language before the only chair in the room. Feliciano turned to Kiku, smile as large as it was genuine.

Kiku tucked the money into his jacked and shrugged it off, folding it and placing in on the counter. “What am I doing here?”

Feliciano sighed, shaking his head good-naturedly. “I told you, it would be better if she explained everything. She’s right in there—she’s super nice! Her name is Kat.”

Deep breath and closed eyes. Kiku repeated the amount of money in his coat pocket to himself. It wasn’t bad. Why Feliciano needed _him_ and not an actual doctor concerned Kiku, but he should at least talk to this woman. He opened his eyes and walked into the next room.

“You must be Dr. Honda. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Katyusha Braginski.”

Kiku had expected somebody horrifically deformed or wounded. Katyusha was none of these things. She almost seemed shy as she reached up to adjust her headband. The only things of major notice were her breasts, but Kiku had never had much interest in those.

“Ms. Braginski,” Kiku nodded, feeling slightly less wary. “I wish I could say it was nice, but I was not told why I have come here… Except that it requires surgery.”

Katyusha tapped her finger against the metal of the operating table, thinking. “What is the first thing you notice about me, Doctor?” She held up a hand, and then pressed it against her chest. “You can say my eyes, or my outfit, but really it’s my breasts, no?

“I’m not ashamed of my body, Doctor. I’ve worked hard for my body.” Her eyes became unfocused. “I suppose I’ve been a little… Lost, lately. I finally feel comfortable in my body but something wasn’t right. The boys I’ve dated only really focused on getting naked and—“

Katyusha caught sight of Kiku’s expression and smiled sympathetically.

“Well, you know. I don’t mind being _sexualized_ , but when someone only focuses on _sex_?” She laughed, fixing her hairband again.

There was a pause, and Kiku realized he was meant to fill it. “I… I’m sorry, Ms. Katyusha, I am unsure of what you’re asking.”

She pointed to her breasts, where her nipples would be. “Get rid of these,” she gestured towards her skirt, “and remove and sew up the unimportant things. I’m pretty, yes, but I’m not a fucktoy. I want people to think I’m beautiful because I am, not because of what they can do to me.”

Kiku felt his face warming up.

A look of panic flashed across Katyusha’s face. “You probably see why I couldn’t go to anyone else. Feliciano knew and finally suggested you—he said you would understand and just take the money. Maybe you don’t understand. I’m sorry I’m—“

“No,” Kiku cut in, holding up his hand. “This is what you really want?”

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation. “Yes.”

This was perhaps more illegal than last time. It most certainly was.

Kiku rubbed down the whole operating room to sterilize it, and then scrubbed his hands furiously. It was quick work putting Katyusha under.

Just as Kiku was taught: he marked the area, sterilized, checked Katyusha’s vital signs. Just as Kiku was warned against: cutting away healthy tissue, counting the multitudes of other scars, feeling utterly blissful.

How simply everything was; he had no idea how much time had passed when he tied the final suture.

Kiku handed Feliciano the medical waste, trying to drive the past few hours out of his mind. “Please do not give my information to _anyone_ else. Change her dressing frequently. It is going to hurt to walk. Have a doctor—a real doctor—check on her sutures and for infection.”

Feliciano smiled. “That shouldn’t be a problem; she has a private doctor for these sorts of things!”

Blearily, Kiku nodded and walked away, collecting his coat.

“Oh, wait! Katyusha has a blog for her followers that think what she’s doing is good. What should she call you if you don’t want anyone else to know your name?”

Kiku didn’t pause as he walked out of the room. “Make something up.”


End file.
